by Sophia North
"It isn't an issue of want. I must do this. You, on the other hand, are not obliged to join me on this fool's errand. It could mean your downfall and I'm not sure I could bear being the cause. I have taken too much from you already."
"Brother, we've always stood together. We will always stand together," Vlad replied earnestly. "And for the record, I don't feel obliged, so stop talking shite."
"Very well, then. Let's get this show on the road," Dante said, pushing away from the wall he'd been leaning against.
As he and Vlad approached the entrance, two guards emerged from the shadows to greet them. "Stop and state your business," the female guard demanded.
Dressed in black leather from head to toe, the vampress wore her short dark hair slicked back, her ice grey eyes heavily rimmed with black eye liner. Everything about her screamed new recruit and Dante had little patience for newbies.
Lowerton security were trained to recognise every Watcher and never question their access. This one was obviously a piss poor student.
"Mind your tone, Keeper and stand down. My business is none of yours," he challenged menacingly.
A defiant glint flashed through her black rimmed eyes before she returned fire. "Rank and purpose," she insolently ordered.
Dante pinned her against the door in reply.
"Easy, brother," Vlad intervened, holding the impertinent recruit's partner aloft by his throat after he attempted to come to her rescue. "I think this one might know me."
"Watcher Barath?" the guard rasped in horrified recognition.
"Well done...Peterson, isn't it?" Vlad ventured.
The vampyre nodded, his eyes widening in fear. Disrespecting a Watcher came with serious consequences.
"See, mate. All is well, this one knows his place. You can forgive the young one, can't you?" Vlad asked, attempting to diffuse the situation. "Lest you forget, I am here to prevent you from creating a scene. Try not to fall at the first fucking hurdle."
Dante released his grip and allowed the young vampyress to collapse unconscious at his feet. Vlad lowered Peterson to the ground as well.
Once released, the guard dropped to his knees, cowering in fear. "A thousand pardons, Dominus vigil," he groveled, using the Watcher's formal Latin title in a show of absolute deference. "Keeper Smith is new, I never should have agreed to let her stand first."
Vlad glanced over at the unconscious female vampyre who'd caused all the fuss. If not for going through an unfortunate Goth phase, she was rather attractive. Which meant the reason for Peterson's poor judgment didn't require much imagination to work out.
"Perhaps you will think twice before shagging your next apprentice, Peterson," he advised. "Now, take her to the tower for confinement. When she wakes, you will inform Smith of her demotion."
Peterson nearly tripped over in his haste to do as commanded.
Vlad opened the door and gestured to his friend. "Shall we?"
*
Underneath the block of flats, a huge complex of tunnels housed Central Operations of the vampyre empire. There were living quarters, government facilities, ceremonial spaces, as well as those of leisure, such as theatres, fine blood dining and libraries.
The London Square Mile is perhaps one of the closest human equivalents to Lowerton, the others being Vatican City and Washington D.C.
In the middle of the complex, built from a long buried ancient Roman coliseum, was the Council Chamber. It was there that the Council of Elders convened once a week to be updated on progress reports from various committees and make decisions over pressing issues.
Inside the sloping circumference of the gallery was space for over two thousand vampyres. And any 'registered' vamp - as in those initiated to serve Lowerton - could attend a council meeting and stand in the Gallery.
The inner circle of the chamber was covered by a luxurious red carpet with several benches and tables dotted about for various clerks and secretaries. An impressively raised dais, with a large stone throne dominating the center, was flanked by elegant, curved wooden tables on either side. This was where the Council sat when in session.
Though most vampyres were independently wealthy, any registered vampyre had a right to his or her own living quarters inside Lowerton and the protection it provided. This privilege was a guarantee of the Council but in return a vampyre would have to pledge their loyalty and serve the Empire whenever asked. The greater the service, the greater a vampyre's standing became inside Lowerton.
However, there were many who had no interest in living this way and forged their own paths. The Council was not permitted to interfere with a vampyre's life choice unless he or she hunted humans for their blood. The punishment for doing so was summary execution. Harsh but required. Live human blood was dangerous and a vampyre on it could not be trusted.
"This is supposed to be an emergency Meet!" Dante growled at Vlad, pacing behind the dais. "What the hell are they doing?"
By law, the council had to wait a minimum of thirty minutes before commencing with a Meet to allow interested Lowerton members time to access the chamber. A fact Vlad decided not to remind Dante of at that particular moment given his friend's already stretched temper.
Amazed by how quickly the gallery had filled, Vlad shifted in his chair to watch the latest arrivals enter. All sorts of vampyres congregated in an eerie silence, as if sensing something remarkable was about to happen. And as fate would have it, they were not going to be disappointed.
When the Elders finally arrived, their disorganisation further incensed Dante. It had been a long time since a Watcher last called for a Meet and no one seemed quite sure how to commence.
Watching their incompetence laid bare, Dante recalled one of the last things his father had said to him regarding Lowerton before his disappearance. They had been having another slightly heated argument about politics when he'd made a comment on how slow the Council reacted to problems.
Strangely, his father had partly agreed and said: "The problem is, the last couple of centuries have been a time of peace and prosperity like never before."
"And why should this be such a problem?" Dante had asked.
"Because like an over-indulgent spirit, the Council has become complacent. They forget the effort it took to build such an existence. The sacrifice it required, the centuries of mistakes and unintended consequences experienced in order to forge a new path."
These words floated around Dante's mind as he now watched them try and organise themselves. Over-indulgent and complacent didn't even begin to describe the scene.
Tradition decreed seven Elders sat on council, including the Grand Elder, the most powerful vampyre in Lowerton. After this, in terms of influence, came the First Elder, then the Second and so on. Only three Elders, along with Grand Elder Rolfe, were currently presiding over Lowerton.
Eventually Sixth Elder Wilhalf, the former Grand Elder of the empire until he'd stepped down, finally got things on the right track by banging his fist on the table. Within moments the growing mutterings from the gallery descended into silence.
Thank fuck for that. Dante's patience was already close to breaking point.
Grand Elder Rolfe rose from his throne and nodded in appreciation at Wilhalf before turning to his audience. A short, round-faced vampyre, Rolfe was known for his open, relaxed nature. These qualities had helped him get elected as Grand Elder.
"This Emergency Meet has been called by Watcher Polidori. In these situations urgency is extremely vital…"
"A fact I'm struggling to believe ... ," Dante muttered at Vlad.
"But I must remind everyone patience is also required," Rolfe cast a quick eye in Dante's direction, indicating his comment had not gone unheard. "And so we should hear everything Watcher Polidori has to say before jumping in with our own opinions. Watcher Polidori, the floor is now yours."
Dante moved to the dais. "Consiliarius magnam, honourable Elders," he said, bowing slightly. "I believe many of our fears and suspicions are on the verge of becoming reality
."
A loud murmur of voices rippled around the gallery over his vague statement.
"Silence!" shouted Rolfe.
But the discussions and arguments only increased. Eventually the ancient Wilhalf stood and glared around the coliseum. The noise quickly receded.
"What do you mean?" queried Elder Simmons, waving his bony hands in the air. "To whose fears and suspicions are you referring? Or do you believe you speak for us all?"
"Of course not, Third Elder," responded Dante, trying his best not to be antagonised by the sanctimonious cunt. "First, allow me to explain the context for what I am about to say. If Council recalls, a fortnight ago the Watchers reported on the growing number of murders by what we assumed is a Ripper. Well, the scenario is much the same – two weeks later and humans are still being killed."
"We are all aware of this, Dante," Rolfe pointed out. "Do you have any evidence as to who is responsible? We can only cover up so many of these deaths before news filters out and humans rightfully become alarmed. And the last thing we need are suspicious humans...this Ripper must be caught!"
Dante took a deep breath. "I believe there is one vampyre who can explain what's going on – Anton."
A great roar rose from the gallery and Dante heard a couple of vampyres accuse him of treachery. Dante noticed Wilhalf staring at the floor, as if he had foreseen this coming and could not face the consequences.
"Be careful, Dante," warned Rolfe, as the noise died down. "I hope you have more to back this claim."
"As you are all aware I inherited my father's visionary powers..."
"Your father's loss is still keenly felt by us, Dante. One of the reasons we offered you his place on Council was because of your gift," Elder Simmons interrupted, with a show of false sincerity.
Dante stiffened at Simmons' mention of his father's 'loss'. It was rich coming from the one who'd openly derided his father's attempts to discuss the possibility of the Haan prophecy's validity.
Simmons was a fanatic when it came to preserving the power of Lowerton. He and his followers refused to drink any blood, human or otherwise, and as a result they had slowly withered into grotesque husks. Any talk which could result in the overthrow of the current power structure, be it by Haan prophecy believers or other internal rebellious factions, was treason in their eyes.
"It is that self-same gift that has brought me here. Last night I had a vision. In it Anton spoke to me of his belief in the Haan prophecy and the need to depose the human race..."
Suddenly, pandemonium broke out, cutting Dante off. He'd obviously touched a nerve. The gallery filled with voices of dissent over his statement.
Again Dante looked at Wilhalf, in the hope he'd bring the masses back under control. Rolfe, it had to be said, appeared to be useless at handling the crowd. But the old vamp held his tongue and continued to stare at the floor. It was incredibly frustrating. Of all the remaining Elders, he believed Wilhalf would be the one who'd support him.
Once the noise quieted, Rolfe stood up. "As Grand Elder, I believe we need time to deliberate on what course of action to take. We will assess Dante's claim and conduct our own investigations. But let me be clear, Fifth Elder Anton is not on trial. Without hard evidence, he is accused of nothing."
"No!" Dante shouted in response. "There is no time. We must act now!"
"Do not attack the decision of the Grand Elder," warned Simmons, narrowing his eyes. "Remember, Anton is still an Elder and must be accorded all due respect by one such as yourself."
"What is wrong with you?" Dante roared in protest. "Don't you see Anton is deranged? He believes in the prophecy and is intent on fulfilling it! I didn't want to accept it either but we have no choice."
"It's no use, brother," Vlad advised, placing a hand on Dante's shoulder. "You're only making things worse."
"Worse!" exclaimed Dante, shrugging Vlad's hand away. "What's worse than humans dying because our world refuses to see the truth when its staring us right in the face?"
Another roar of dissent broke out around the gallery.
"I suggest you take your friend home before he finds himself in more trouble than he is currently in," Simmons advised Vlad. "We do not appreciate conspiracy theories and emotional outbursts. The lesson of his father's demise should clearly not be lost on his son. Dante needs to choose his next steps very carefully."
As the tension inside the coliseum teetered dangerously towards violence, Vlad gripped Dante by the arm and pulled him from the fray. "Come on, mate. We need to get the hell outta here!"
Chapter Eight
"THANK YOU FOR sharing your story, Bob. I'm sure I am not alone in wishing you well with the next phase of your life."
Seeing it was time for the news, Simone announced: "We're approaching a quarter past midnight and if you've just tuned in, tonight's show is about how to cope with loss and the many ways grief can manifest. After a short news break, we'll continue with your calls. But for now it's over to Richard Williamson with the headlines."
"Thank you, Simone. Topping the headlines tonight: The Brexit battle continues..." the news reader's voice faded away as Simone muted him.
In her ear, Jason's voice immediately came through. "Doc, the lines are on fire tonight! Keep up the good work!"
Smiling her thanks at his encouragement through the glass window of the booth, Simone spun in her chair to take a moment away from his view.
Each time a new caller's name appeared on her screen tonight, she'd desperately hoped it would read Dante or even 'D', should he decide to remain anonymous. But sadly, no such call came.
Dante may be an avid listener but that was no guarantee he'd ring up. Many didn't. But still, she had hoped maybe he would.
Through her headphones, Jason's voice announced: "Simone, you're back on-air in five...four..." he finished the count with his fingers.
Taking her cue, she opened with, "Welcome back to InsideOut. Tonight, we are discussing the impact of grief." Scanning her screen, she quickly read the notes Jason had provided about her next call. "On the line now is 'A', who would prefer to remain anonymous. Hello A, thank you for ringing in tonight."
"Cheers for having me on, Simone. I always find your show…enlightening."
Simone's instincts tingled, warning her something wasn't quite right. The man's voice was calm. Too calm. "I'm pleased you enjoy the show. Now, why don't you tell me the reason for ringing in."
"It's to do with a very close friend of mine," the caller replied. "He recently died. But not in the physical sense."
Glancing at Jason in his booth, Simone raised a questioning brow at her producer. Shrugging his shoulders, he gave her a thumbs up to confirm the caller had seemed fine when he'd been screened.
"I think one or two of us may have a problem understanding what you mean," Simone returned. "Could you clarify?"
"Why, certainly Dr. Simone. I hope your listeners enjoy a good story," the strange caller responded. "Once upon a time my friend and I used to be close. Very close, like brothers, in fact. But then he fell in love and things started to change."
"How do you mean?" Simone asked, struggling to work out how the man's story related to grief.
"Well, it was no secret I didn't particularly like the woman. But she was important to my friend, so I tried my best to accept her. Not that it did much good, her tentacles were in deep and my friend could not see the dangerous path he was on. I tried to help him wake up and see reality, but alas he'd already partaken from the poisoned chalice and was doomed."
Normally Simone wouldn't indulge such a noticeably disturbed caller, but there was something familiar about his story. Against her better judgment she continued with the call.
"You equate your friend's relationship to drinking from a poisoned chalice," she challenged. "Seems a rather poetic way to express yourself, A? And I am unclear how your story relates to our topic tonight."
"Ah, my dear Dr. Simone - do try and be patient. Your listeners are going to love where my story ends up. Now, whe
re was I? Oh yes, my friend's fair lady. Tragically she died...well, technically she was murdered."
"Murdered?" Simone gasped.
"Yes - it was so unexpected," the caller drolly replied. "My friend, as you can imagine, was obviously devastated."
"No doubt," Simone mumbled, uncertain how to respond.
"I did my best to console him and help him through the grieving process. I gave him time, lots of time."
"Time for what?"
"To come back to us."
Simone felt more than a little confused and noticed Jason scratching his head before he shrugged at her again. "I don't think I understand," she finally responded.
"Oh, I think you do, Simone. You see, he deserted us by becoming a Watcher again. He betrayed his birthright and for what? He will never win."
"Dante," Simone whispered before realising what she’d done.
"Yes," the caller hissed menacingly. "I know he's visited you, doctor. He's a lost cause. You cannot help him."
"I'm afraid I can't talk about private clients on the radio," she replied, giving Jason the cut-off signal.
But the caller remained on the line.
"I am not so easily dismissed, Dr. Simone. We are much more powerful than you could ever comprehend. The only reason I'm on this stupid show is because I know he will be listening."
Simone stared at Jason, who was desperately banging and striking his computer. Eventually he looked up and in a panicky voice shouted:
"I can't cut him off!"
"I don't know how you're doing this," Simone challenged, "But if you have something to say to your friend, you should do so face-to-face. Not publicly."
"Oh, spare me the lecture, you pathetic human hypocrite!" A exclaimed aggressively, sending a chill down her spine. "Dante – hear me! I know you're out there listening to this pathetic little show. Things that bad, eh? You must be desperate. But whether you like it or not, the Age of the Vampyre is dawning. The Great Haan said it would be so and so it shall be. If you won't join us, then you will die! If you won't join us, then you will die!"
The line abruptly went silent.
